


ritual and rite

by annejumps



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Rites of Passage, Ritual Sex, Sex Magic, Telepathy, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ritual that would lead to the full manifestation of her abilities was critically important for their temple, and not least of all for herself; if all went as planned, she would go from maiden to high priestess, essentially a goddess on Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ritual and rite

**Author's Note:**

> So I says to [pearl_o](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/pseuds/pearl_o) I says, "What if Jean were a virgin priestess in some ancient mutant sex cult?"  
> I don't think Jean is necessarily underage in this, so I guess that depends on whether it's your bag or not.  
> This is pure idfic; I offer no excuse. :D

Jean didn’t blame Charles for being on edge—he’d been essentially raising her for this, ever since she was brought to the temple as a child by her parents. They’d had no idea what to do with her uncontrolled power showing at such a young age. 

Charles was very protective of her—it was his educated opinion that the potential waiting inside her, waiting for the ritual to be completed before it would truly take flight in full force, was greater than that of anyone he knew, even someone as powerful as himself. The nature of it was to be very similar to Charles’, and so she was under his care. He had taught her to largely contain the random bursts of power that hinted at what awaited her.

The ritual that would lead to the full manifestation of her abilities was critically important for their temple, and not least of all for herself; if all went as planned, she would go from maiden to high priestess, essentially a goddess on Earth. 

She’d spent half her life training under Charles, untouched and waiting for the day when the Prophetess would decree that it was time for her to gain her womanhood and subsequently her power. Yet Charles seemed more fixated on it than she was—his thoughts about it, those he let through and those she was able to read, were tinged with worry. 

He knew the man who’d been chosen to induct her—he and Charles were longtime friends. As Jean was rarely allowed to leave the temple, unlike Charles, she would not have had occasion to meet him. He, too, had powers, although of a different nature than hers and Charles’—she was told he moved metal. While Charles insisted the man was good, and handsome, he also told her that the ritual deflowering of temple virgins was not something he had experience with, and with his… endowment, he’d have to be especially mindful and gentle. She wasn’t sure why Charles was burdening her with all this—no one could go against the choices made by the Prophetess, so they would all simply have to work together to accomplish it. 

Jean had kept vigil outside the doors of the large ritual room at the heart of their temple on a number of occasions; she was unable to directly witness anything, as virgins were not allowed to, but with her nascent powers she was able to gather an understanding. Still, though, eavesdropping was not only frowned upon, it wasn’t the same as experience. 

She wished Charles would calm himself, but it wasn’t her place to tell him so. As she was his ward, he’d be with her when it happened, and he’d be guiding her through it; by then, she was sure, he’d have come to his senses, and would remember that his role was to calm and comfort _her_.

The day came; she went through her everyday temple rites as usual, but she was honored at a feast dedicated to her and what she would become. And instead of being dressed by her maids in her usual diaphanous white gown for the evening service, she was bathed and rubbed down with golden oil, her long red hair combed out from its usual plaits. With a crown of flowers being all she wore, she was led to the main temple hall, in torchlight to where Charles and the man—Erik—waited. 

At the door, a maiden handed her a chalice, which contained a potion mixed with wine to relax her and calm her nerves. She didn’t linger in the drinking of it. The timing for the ritual was very precise, and had to be completed by the time the moon rose, or she’d forfeit everything they’d been waiting for. 

Once she handed the chalice back, the maidens opened the doors to allow her to enter, then left her to walk in alone, the clanging of the closing doors echoing in the silence of the enormous stone hall. That left her with Charles and Erik.

They were both staring at her, reverent, as she walked toward them. In all their years of knowing each other, Charles had never seen her naked. Charles was wearing his customary robes, but Erik was naked, standing at the foot of the broad stone slab she’d only briefly glimpsed from time to time between rituals. He was erect. Now it seemed it was her turn to worry. 

She looked from Erik’s cock to Charles, silent, alarmed and beseeching as she walked more slowly toward the slab. Perhaps the drink hadn’t started working yet.

“It’s all right, Jean,” Charles said. “I’ll help you.” 

She trusted him, of course. Who loved her better than Charles? But still… how was that going to fit inside her? The pounding of her heart, all the same, was not due solely to trepidation. The way Erik was looking at her, too…. The hint of power she did have now might have let her glimpse his mind but for the fact that he was seemingly naturally shielded against her reach. 

“Is my ward not beautiful, as I told you?” Charles said, proud, vaguely challenging.

“She is,” Erik agreed, his gaze on her almost as palpable as a caress. She felt her nipples tighten, and took a deep breath. Now, perhaps, she was beginning to notice the effect of the drink: she felt warm, vague, blurred, her pulse more evident to herself. 

Jean cast her crown of flowers to the floor and stood next to the slab, Charles on the other side facing her and Erik at the foot. “Time is of the essence,” she told them, her voice sounding almost lost in the vast space, and stepped up on the dais to lie on her back, on the hard slab. “Now,” she told Erik, and he and Charles looked at each other, not moving. She could not hear whatever silent conversation they might have been having; Charles’ shielding was strong when he wanted it to be.

“I….” she started, looking at the ceiling high above. She swallowed, and began again. “It’s going to hurt—please, get it over with.” Her eyes pricked with tears, much to her dismay. As she blinked them away, she tried to feel again whatever was in that drink.

“Darling,” Charles said, infinitely compassionate, “you can’t rush this with sheer determination. It needs helping along.”

“We don’t have much time,” she protested, and then Charles was sliding his hand under her knee and parting her thighs. 

It was Charles, not Erik, who knelt between her legs and tasted her, patient as she froze in shock and then melted against him, helpless to do otherwise. He licked at her, sucked at her until she sobbed, and raised his head to look at her, flushed, eyes dark with a look she’d never seen before. 

She knew then that he wanted, with great intensity, to be the one who inducted her into womanhood, and that this was something he’d felt under the surface for a long time but hadn’t acknowledged to himself until he at last had her on his tongue. It was for Charles she pulsed for the first time, wet and ready, but it was Erik’s cock she would take. The Prophetess had decreed it.

“Charles,” Erik said, sounding faint, a little breathless.

“All yours,” Charles bit out, and then visibly calmed himself with a few breaths. He stood, and Erik took his place between her thighs. His hands were big on her hips as he tilted her, gracefully guiding her legs around him; she sensed his pleasure at how long and elegant her limbs were, how sleek and soft her skin was against his rough hands. 

Charles found her hand and held it, and she squeezed. Her other hand clutched at Erik’s broad shoulder as he held himself to her; she was wet, but he was huge, and she choked out a gasp, slumping back on the stone and trying to decide whether to tighten her legs around him and draw him in, or squirm away. 

But there was nowhere to squirm away to; Erik was lean, but he was heavier than she was, and she was trapped under him. She whimpered, and he proceeded no further, but was still pressed just there, on the verge, making her ache. She wanted it, she did—Charles’ mouth had made her want it more than the drink had—but fear of the pain that was sure to come had her frozen.

“Jean,” Charles said, almost begging, lacing his fingers with hers, “darling, it doesn’t have to hurt. Let me—” He put his fingers to his temple, and she understood what he wanted to do.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. As frightened as she was, it didn’t seem right to skip the pain entirely—the fates, she felt instinctively, would not be pleased. “Just…. Charles, touch me.” That would help distract her, she was sure.

“Where shall I touch you, love? He’s covering you rather well,” Charles observed, squeezing her fingers. 

“Move back,” she told Erik, who raised himself up a bit, and Charles’ hands were on her, palming her breasts, his fingers stroking and teasing her nipples as if he already knew exactly how she wanted to be touched, when she herself didn’t know. She gasped, closing her eyes, shifting and feeling herself growing wetter against the head of Erik’s cock. Erik’s breathing was starting to sound strained, but still he didn’t move.

“Patience, friend,” Charles murmured to him, voice thick. “She’s almost ready for you.” Despite the coolness of the air, she felt slick with sweat everywhere her skin touched Erik’s, but she was goosebumps everywhere Charles touched her, nipples achingly tight. 

The moon, she remembered with a start. There was no sign of it yet through the ornate window at the end of the hall, but she didn’t know how much time they had. 

“Now,” she said, and Charles took his hands from her; she pulled Erik down to her with one arm across his shoulders, her other hand finding and clutching one of Charles’ again. She shifted her hips, and Erik rested his weight on his hands, absorbing her shudders as he pressed into her. She cried out more than once—it hurt even as she adjusted to the strangely satisfying fullness that was almost too much—and as he sank in completely, she arched up and crossed her ankles higher behind his back. That sent a sudden arc of pleasure through her, making her cry out in another way. Charles squeezed her hand as she squeezed back.

“That slab can’t be comfortable,” Erik murmured, hoarse, and lifted her with an arm behind her back until he was sitting on his heels. The movement sent him further up inside her and she gasped, the soft sound strange in her ears. 

She clutched at him, and was aware then of Charles kneeling behind her, close, mouth on her neck, hungry and possessive. His hand worked between her body and Erik’s, touching and pinching her until she peaked around Erik’s cock, throbbing, her cries swallowed by him as he kissed her—the first time anyone had. 

Charles’ hands were all over her, stroking up to cup her breasts and back down over her hips, fingers digging into her there, firm and pushing her down onto Erik as he thrust up into her, faster now and faster still, gasping roughly into her mouth.

In a blur Jean felt a power swelling in her mind, a rush unlike anything she’d ever known. She was in a limp daze under the sheer force of it, barely aware as Erik pulled out, leaving her tender; Charles pulled her back against him, gentle and sure. 

It was Charles who wrapped her in silks, who lay beside her as she stretched out on the stone, trembling and exhausted, yet fulfilled; she’d done it. Erik was there, somewhere, tired but content enough with a task well done—she could read him better now, knew he’d been worried at the back of his mind that he’d fail her, fail Charles—sitting wrapped in dark robes. She could sense him watching Charles stroke soothing hands over her as she felt her mind stretch to accommodate her new powers. She lacked the energy to explore them now, instead letting herself absorb Charles’ attentions as he peeled strands of her sweat-dampened hair from her cooling skin, and kissed her temple. 

Present in her mind, too, was Charles; she could _feel_ him now, could truly feel his mind and understand the vast power he—they—possessed. 

“Charles,” Erik whispered to get his attention, as she became aware of a sort of awe emanating from him. Jean opened her eyes at the sound of his voice, not having realized she’d closed them and nearly fallen asleep, and immediately saw what he was seeing: The loose wreath of flowers she’d worn as her only adornment was no longer where it had been cast aside on the temple floor, but instead was floating above her, gradually disentangling itself into stems and petals, all drifting in the air as if bobbing on the warm water of a bath. In her startled realization that this was her doing, they dropped from the air in a gentle rain.

Charles’ surprise, pleasure, and pride washed over her. “Truly you are a perfect high priestess for our temple, akin unto a goddess,” he breathed, blue eyes wide and earnest as he cupped her jaw.

Erik chuckled softly. “So happy to be right, Charles? I can feel your triumph from here.”

“I raised her for this. Her power blesses us all,” Charles told him, a sharpness in his tone. He turned to Jean again, fingers stroking her neck, voice gentle for her. “I will teach you to control all of this, too, Jean.”

“If you can,” Erik said. Charles ignored him, and kissed her forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks [pearl_o](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/) and [gerec](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec)!


End file.
